


It's Raining, It's Pouring

by shanewantstobattle



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Geralt Being Soft, Horseback Riding, Jaskier has the braincell, M/M, Mythology References, One Shot, Short One Shot, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Thunderstorms, a good ol time in the rain, its raining its pouring, short but sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanewantstobattle/pseuds/shanewantstobattle
Summary: Considering Geralt and Jaskier are traveling a lot, it's not too far fetched that they'd get caught in a storm. But what happens when it's unexpected, and there's no shelter around until the next town over?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 102





	It's Raining, It's Pouring

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Shane here! I hope you all enjoy this one shot fic :' ) i had the idea for this based on a thread i wrote on Twitter (follow me for more Witcher comment and cursed tweets : @/BERGARAOFRIVIA) and I knew i HAD to write it; and here we are!
> 
> It's nothing too too long or special, but the idea was too cute not to write so, I hope you guys enjoy it anyway, and as always, don't hesitate to leave a comment or kudos, everything is always greatly appreciated, and thank you for taking the time to read my work(s) <3

_Pitter. Patter. Pitter. Patter_.

The rain beat down upon the earth with haste, drenching the continent with a refreshing sheet of crystalline droplets; replenishing the earth with nutrients, washing away all the pollen, yellowy - green upon the roofs, the tops of stables, the top layer of the footprint riddled squares.

Even blanketing the forests and their trails, visible distinct prints of hooves being embedded into them; disrupting it.

Yet, everything was even again, washed clean and the earth swirling with the inky pollen, congealed with the rainwater as it began to form puddles, colliding with leaves and various natural and human debris; a kaleidoscope untouched by man.

Rainwater was all well and good.

Unless you were the ones on the horses, traveling in the middle of the wood. Yet, it hadn’t reached _everywhere_ as of yet, making its way through places like a powerwash, clouds making sure all the cracks and crevices were sparkly clean.

The thunder rumbled, rolling across the horizon in the distance - seemingly everywhere and nowhere at once - the sound eerily symphonic, Zeus’ symphony upon the chorus of Apollo across the sky, stealing the sun upon the front of his chariot, seeping into the golden reins.

A pausing moment.

Then two.

Three.

Another rumble of the thunder.

“Three miles.” A gruff voice grunted, the horse mounted man looking up, studying the desaturating sky, watching the colors recede behind the trees, covering behind the congealing gray.

“W-What?” A secondary voice spoke up, head swiveling; he was also upon horseback, their mares not even hesitating in their trotting steps. Not that he didn’t know what the other was saying, but he had been taken off - guard at hearing the other - whom often sat through events in a laconic state, more observing than speaking - _actually_ speak.

“The storm is three miles out.” Geralt of Rivia spoke again, clarifying. His voice was a matching note to the thunder rolling across the land, the words rolling across the metallic sheen of his palate, sharpening upon the blades of his teeth.

Chiseled down, of course.

Jaskier’s brows rose as the Witcher spoke, his own gaze being casted skyward. “Oh, right. The seconds between thunder claps.” Azure hues studied the dull gray, his voice almost drowned out as another wave of the thunder rolled about, getting closer the further they rode. “Think we’ll make it to the next town before it comes?” He added, looking over at the alabaster haired man beside him.

Brevity of silence shrouded the pair, another rumbling thrum sounded, though this time it wasn’t from the skies readying to open up; instead, it was a hum from the Witcher, the deep register of his usually gravelly alto voice humming upon the thought. A gaze, chiseled out from the brightest citrine and canopied by determinedly set dark brows, looked down back to the path in front of them, considering Jaskier’s words.

“Maybe. If we can move a bit faster we might be able to reach town before.” A grunt interrupted his words, lips pursing a moment, the crease in his forehead suddenly deepening as the wind picked up, shrieking through the limbs of the trees, leaves rustling crinkling in the silence, like bones cracking and releasing tension as it whipped chestnut and silvery strands, loose fabric from attire wavering around the pair. “Though with how fast the storm seems to be traveling, all we might be able to do is shorten the distance we’re stuck getting soaked.”

Words which were followed by another - the closest yet - crack of thunder, this time the sky waning upon its cloud dusted tectonic plates, shifting as its’ colorless facade broke, striking upon the earth as the sky lit up with a shocking boom; the halo of the lightning encompassing the entire sky, highlighting the the travelling pair.

Both horses gave a whinny at the loud crack, hooves giving a nervous dance as they shifted, moving closer to one another. A hand from the bard raised, moving to trace soft small circles in the mare’s shoulder, whispering a few coos to it; concern and worry fresh upon his brow.

Jaskier and Geralt gave each other a look.

“How far out are we?” Jaskier redirected his previous question as he sat up fully once more, changing it due to the new developments of the inclement weather, the wind still bearing sharply as it readied the land for the incoming downpour, the skies darkening now, clouds thickening and layering upon one another.

It was close.

“Half a mile, almost a mile at best.” Geralt replied, still looking at the bard.

Jaskier nodded, a look of contemplation covering his features as his head turned back to frontal facing, his hands moving to steady upon his mare’s reins - leather straps he mostly just kept in his lap unless necessary - a decision being made almost as fast as the distance between the thunderclaps sounding above them.

“Jaski-”

And with the boom of the thunder, which interrupted the White Wolf, Jaskier was off, the snap of the mare’s reins adding a soprano to the sky’s symphony, like one harsh pluck of a lute string. The mare whinnied, hooves immediately pounding in the earth as she began to swiftly canter, the thundering sound of the hooves competing with the rumbling sound of the thunder, which continued to approach at a hasting pace.

Jaskier was like one of the Four Horsemen, elegant in his movements and riding posture as his physique smoothly bobbed with the horses’ movement, yet intimidating in the bright spotlight of the second lightning strike. He was like a gladiator riding into battle, Ares leading an army through Wrath’s blessing.

It was truly a marvelous sight.

“Smart bastard.” There was a smirk adorning Geralt’s tiers then, his own grip upon Roach’s reins giving a hard snap, Roach immediately kicking into a mirroring canter to Jaskier’s.

Even behind as Geralt was, the storm brewing now upon his hide, as if it were following him and trailing in his wake like the spindly clouds of a fog rolling in, water droplets beginning to trickle down.

It was when Geralt had become even with Jaskier again, noticing the smirk against the bard’s tiers, that the skies finally opened up, the oceanic sky succumbing to the dismal gray dominating its’ home.

At first, it wasn’t bad, almost _ridiculously_ not bad: just a few water droplets every fourth cantering step, plucking down upon a scalp or a layer of eyelashes, dampening hair or a mane.

Geralt hummed, looking skyward again. Something seemed off; the roar of the thunder didn’t match the heaviness - or lack thereof - of the rain.

“Seems we might’ve missed it,” He commented with a drawling curious note, those brows of his still knitted at the apex of nose, scrunching with guard and caution.

And then came the _rain._

Not just a few droplets, or a light consistent drizzle. Oh no, this was _much_ worse. The rain came down in buckets, splashing and coating the pair and their mares like blanketed sheets. Even worse, the rain met the canopy of the trees above them with vigor, and once the leaves became too heavy, far too overwhelmed by the sponge of the rainwater, expunged it, adding another downpour of water every fifteen or odd gallops.

“Spoke too soon Geralt!” Jaskier cried over the sound of the pelting rain, the _tink tink tink_ of the water beads pounding almost as loudly as the pairs of horses’ hooves against the mudding earth.

“Fuck,” he cursed, feeling the rain begin to weigh heavy upon his silver tresses, the edges already curling with the moisture, trickling down upon his cloak, soaking through to his armor.

And man it was _cold_.

A shudder ran through the Witcher, plucking down the rungs of his spine with no remorse; nature didn’t care who you were, if she was on a rampage, you’ll be swallowed.

Tugging back the reins of Roach, the hose gave a neighing chatter, her head shaking, steps slowing back into a hastened gait, yet not as fast as the galloping canter.

Turning back a bit - resulting in chestnut tresses slapping and sticking to his visage, azure hues sharp against the desaturated grayness of it all - Jaskier slowed as well, yet him and his mare were still ahead of Geralt.

Even with the distance, Geralt could see the bard’s physique shivering, could practically hear the tiers of his teeth chattering, gnashing together in small, quick, chilling synapses.

Geralt frowned at the sight, worry creasing his brow. Jaskier couldn’t see what the Witcher was doing through the thickening sheet of the rain - no matter how many times his hands raised to flick rainwater from his lashes and eyes, it was a fruitless endeavor - his gaze moving back frontward; they had to make it back to town.

Such an action worked in Geralt’s favor, his fingers easily moving to unclasp buttons, a cloud of fabric suddenly billowing behind him, the mass of obsidian fabric moving through the air —

And landing upon the bard’s shoulders with good aim.

Jaskier flinched as he felt the fabric adorn his shoulders, head tilting as he looked down to see what suddenly shrouded him from the rain.

It was Geralt’s cloak.

“G-geralt?” He spoke, shouting to be heard above the rain, and also still fighting against the chattering of his teeth, form gently vibrating in the shivering.

The Witcher didn’t answer at first, him and Roach still a bit behind Jaskier. The bard was about to turn around as the silence became worrisome, when he spotted a familiar shock of sepia colored fur with a higher coat of alabaster tresses in his peripheral, the sound of Roach’s hooves becoming louder.

It was when the pair was beside Jaskier and his horse once more that Geralt spoke, a ghost of a smile clinging to the seams of his lips - something Jaskier wasn’t even sure if he was actually seeing or the rain was playing tricks to his eyes. Either way didn’t matter as he felt heat flush his system despite the cold in the air, the heat shocking against his damp cheeks - his citrine chiseled gaze looking at Jaskier.

“Don’t want you to get sick in this. We’re almost there, but this rain is brutal.” His words were such a casual grunt, though it was his gaze that gave him away; even if their entire surroundings were currently casted in gray, color drained by the washing of the rain splattering between them, it didn’t matter.

To Jaskier, the entire sun was in Geralt’s eyes.

Brows rose at Geralt’s response, battling the air clinging to his forehead. However, it seemed the sound of the rain was distant now, drowned out by the pounding race of the bard’s heartbeat. His fingers clutched tightly at the seams of the cloak, pulling it closer to himself, pulling it far closer together than necessary.

The cloak itself seemed large on Geralt, but on Jaskier? It drowned his form, practically acting as a blanket for his mare as well, swallowing everything about the bard except for his bright - and now dusted vermilion - visage, his hues glancing at the Witcher every now and again. Snuggling into the cloak, Jaskier could feel the tremors lessening, warmth beginning to pool in his system again.

After a few gallops - and as the town , nearly empty due to the torrential downpour - the bard sank further into the obsidian fabric. He gave an inhale, consumed entirely by Geralt’s scent. That, mixed with the fabric’s warmth, made Jaskier feel secure, safe.

It felt like _home_.

He didn’t notice it either, when they happened upon the town, only truly coming back to the present as Geralt was grunting, gently calling for Roach to slow.

Jaskier blinked, noticing the raining had pretty much ceased, coming back full circle to the few droplets here and there, the dark sky lightening, giving heed to a softened silver.

Nuzzled in the cloak, azure hues looked over at the Witcher, nothing but gentle blinks indicating Jaskier was alive, physique still swallowed by the cloak.

“Seems to be letting up,” He commented, though the words were muffled, nearly suffocated by the fabric.

“Figures we were in the heart of it,” Geralt gave a snort, brows raising as his eyes closed momentarily, skull giving a few paces of a shake.

“First for everything, right? You know, this’ll make one hell of a song~” He drawled, his head emerging from the cloak a bit so his words could be heard a bit better.

“Save it until we’re in the inn. Get creative by the fire,” Geralt looked over at him then, his head tilting forward - that damned signature look from the betrothal - light dancing in his eyes. Whether it was from the suns’ rays peaking back out from the clouds, and scattering over the rooftops as they passed establishments, or truly just Geralt’s eye color, was uncertain, but it didn’t matter.

Because it was still Geralt, a shard of the kaleidoscope that came together in a crystalline shining mural of a man.

Jaskier nodded, his mouth suddenly becoming a bit dry, his eyes still studying the Witcher, even as Geralt looked away, moving to steer the two horses to a post. Studying him even as he dismounted, soaked posture moving to secure the animals.

And even as Geralt came to be beside Jaskier - almost as tall as Jaskier _mounted_ \- his attention once again upon the bard.

He offered a hand to Jaskier, brows raised underneath the curtain of silver tresses clinging to his forehead, a light smile plucking at the edges of damp lips. “Why don’t we get inside, and get warm?”

****

The fire was warm, to say the least.

And it was nice, doing nothing but snuggling besides the fire.

And it was nice again to be able to feel limbs and hands.

Jaskier was writing in his songbook, his gaze lingering to Geralt every once in a while, watching those amber waves of eyes cascading side to side as the Witcher read, his impassive visage rather _calm_.

It was a rare sight to say the least, but one that Jaskier didn’t mind.

Feeling the heat in his bones once more, he went to unclasp the cloak still blanketing his frame.

Geralt huffed from where he was, once again snagging Jaskier’s attention. Though, Geralt was still looking down upon his book. Yet, the lip of the book cover and spine couldn’t hide the obvious smile there,

“Keep the cloak. It looks good on you.”


End file.
